We let our blessings get mouldy, and then call them curses.

Home should be an oratorio of the memory, singing to all our after life melodies and harmonies of old-remembered joy.

In this world, full often, our joys are only the tender shadows which our sorrows cast.

The tree is but a huge boquet.

Brethren, we are all sailing home; and by and by, when we are not thinking of it, some shadowy thing (men call it death), at midnight, will pass by, and will call us by name, and will say, "I have a message for you from home; God wants you; heaven waits for you.

Intelligence increases mere physical ability one half. The use of the head abridges the labor of the hands.

O never harm the dreaming world, the world of green, the world of leaves, but let its million palms unfold the adoration of the trees Of all man's works of art, a cathedral is greatest. A vast and majestic tree is greater than that.